


Swallow

by Empy (Empyreus)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Blushing, Come Swallowing, Community: hobbit_kink, Control, Deepthroating, Desire, Dominance, Dwarves, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Family, Fantasizing, Hair-pulling, Hero Worship, Implied/Referenced Incest, Kink Meme, Kneeling, M/M, Misfire fill, Obedience, Orders, PWP, Public Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Teasing, vaguely implied Fíli/Kíli
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-25 12:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empyreus/pseuds/Empy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin lets his mind wander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swallow

**Author's Note:**

> Misfire fill written for the Hobbit kinkmeme and originally posted anon here: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=1921990#t1921990  
> Sort of inspired by this screencap: http://img560.imageshack.us/img560/9040/tumblrmfqdv40nyl1rhl8pj.jpg 
> 
> The actual layout of Bag End has been tweaked a little to make things work. (Also: jfc this got a lot filthier than I intended.)

"I could definitely go for this."

Addressing no one in particular, barely raising his voice enough to make it heard over the general noise and bustle, Dwalin nods toward the bend in the hall of Bag End where Fíli and Kíli are preoccupied with a cask, and pretends that he means the contents of the barrel and not something entirely different.

Another "this". And oh, that "this" being Fíli on his knees or all but so, crouched down and with his head tilted up. Fíli on his knees not in front of a cask of ale but in front of Dwalin himself. A little brat with the proud and cocky bearing of one of the line of Durin put in his place by a warrior tested and true.

Oh, he could definitely go for some of that. Put Fíli's clever mouth to better use, reshape the perpetual smirk into a gasp, or better yet, into the wide stretch of lips around Dwalin's cock. 

Were the hall not so crowded and the ceiling so low he needs to stoop in doorways, he would simply stay where he is, spread his legs to steady himself and call Fíli over. And Fíli would obey, as much because he can be well-mannered and defer to his elders when it is needed as because he looks up to Dwalin. Hangs on his every word when he tells stories of his exploits.

"Come here, Fíli," he would say, and it would take only moments before Fíli would be right there, pressed close in the ridiculously cramped quarters of this grocer's little cellar of a house. And there would be a little grin on Fíli's face, one that is smug and excited all at once, because Dwalin is paying attention to him. Perhaps he would settle his hand on Fíli's shoulder to pull him close, then lean in to speak directly into his ear. "Get on your knees."

The thought of issuing that little command sends a pleasant little frisson through him, and he hides his own grin by affecting to pick a fishbone out of his teeth. His brother, stopping only to pick up a stack of plates before disappearing again, raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

"Get on your knees," he would say, letting the hand he has settled on Fíli's shoulder slide up until it cups the back of his neck. 

Fíli's a clever lad. He would understand exactly what was being asked of him, but it would not prevent his ears from blushing nor would it stop the hasty little intake of breath. He would know just how to ferret his quick hands under the hem of Dwalin's shirt, how to unpluck the laces blind (Dwalin has no doubt those nimble fingers get their workouts unlacing Kíli's breeches) and slip inside. 

The look on Fíli's face would say "Here?" with some polite measure of horror at the idea of a place so strange and so public, but simmering behind it would be desire fanned ever higher by those same issues. He is a show-off, after all, this little leonine heir. "Right here," Dwalin's nod would say, and he might, if he feels like offering further encouragement, slide his thumb over Fíli's cheekbone before pressing that same thumb into the soft flesh of his cheek to force his mouth open.

"Suck," he would say, the word an exhalation ending in a harsh click that drives home that it is a command and not a request.

And Fíli's obedient and eager to please, but above that, he is a greedy little slattern. And a tease. First the affectations of being a novice, the tentative little licks and open-mouthed kisses to the swollen head of the cock that rises proud in front of him, and then, when greed takes over, the motions of a practised harlot. And yet he would not be able to take all Dwalin has to offer, would gag when he tried to take the entire throbbing length deep into his throat.

It is a forgivable failing, really, because it would be a pleasing sight to see Fíli lean back, spittle trailing down his chin and glittering in his short beard as he tries to regain his breath. It would be pleasing to reach out and grasp a handful of that thick golden hair and pull, drag him close once more. And then to pull back just a little, force Fíli to tilt his head back and watch his lips part again. Gagging for it, twisting where he kneels not because the hard floors pain his knees but because he is impatient and hungry. Dwalin is not hard-hearted. He would give Fíli what he wants, would pause only to let Fíli draw breath before surging forward.

It would be a fine mouth to fuck, it truly would. If it is half as good at cock-sucking as it is at smirking and spouting insolent little comments, then it would have Dwalin on his toes in little time. He would hold back half-heartedly, but ultimately forego it, because it would be too pleasing to see Fíli hard at work, his hands clutching Dwalin's thighs.

"Suck, you little tart," he would groan when he cannot stop himself. His hand would fist in Fíli's hair, fingers hooking around the little silver-tipped plaits, and he would pull so hard Fíli groans in response, and oh, that groan would vibrate all through Fíli's long throat that already works around Dwalin's cock. It would have him teetering on the edge, that he knows, and he wonders idly if Fíli's eyes would be open or closed. Open so that he can see everything, track each frown and flit of pleasure that tracks across Dwalin's face? Or closed, as though he were losing himself in the sensation of being used like this, of being on his knees in a stranger's kitchen and sucking cock as though he were starved for it? Open, Dwalin decides, because the clear blue gaze would be hazed and it would match the blush on Fíli's face, that fetching little blush that echoes the colour of his lips stretched wide around the cock that drives in and out of his mouth. Open, because then Dwalin can see the inky pupil widen until it almost eclipses the blue of the iris.

And at the peak of that eclipse, Dwalin would hilt himself, drive home that final inch and come with a growl rattling in his throat. His hand, still fisted tightly in Fíli's hair, would keep the young Dwarf in his place and force him to swallow unless he wants to choke. If he wishes to flatter himself, he might imagine Fíli desperately pawing at the lacings of his own breeches in an attempt to bring himself off.

And then, once the first sharp shivers have died down and once Fíli has swallowed all that Dwalin has seen fit to give, Dwalin would release his hold on Fíli's hair. Perhaps even steady him a little as he reels, pat Fíli's cheek as he gasps for air. Fíli's chin would be slick, his lips swollen, and Dwalin would be so very tempted to grasp his softening cock and drag it across Fíli's mouth for the sensation of air and seed-thick saliva sliding over swollen flesh. 

"Good," he would murmur, tucking himself back in despite the mess this would make of his smallclothes and breeches, and he would pull Fíli to his feet. "Excellent use of that clever mouth of yours, Fíli."

He wonders if Fíli would reply immediately with a smirk or if it would be slower in coming than usual. If it would come only after Fíli had licked his lips and wiped his chin and found his feet again. 

There is a soft cough that shatters his thoughts, calls him back into the disappointing reality where he stands in the kitchen and does not feel the heavy trickle of satiety in each bone, back into the reality where he stands there inconveniently aroused and rudely awoken from idle dreaming.

When he lifts his gaze, Fíli stands in front of him, drinking deep from a tankard of ale, long throat flexing as he tips his head back to swallow.

He grins, caught up in the last swirling dregs of his thoughts, and Fíli chokes. Ale foams down his beard, and Fíli gasps as he slams the tankard down on the nearest table. His chin gleams wet, a stray droplet glittering at the end of a moustache braid.

The words burn on Dwalin's tongue. _Fíli, get on your knees._


End file.
